


Of Bows and Arrows

by Crysania



Series: 100 follower prompt-a-thon [8]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 23:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crysania/pseuds/Crysania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>iambicdearie prompted: Belle's cleaning a certain love god's bow and arrow and somebody accidentally pricks themselves. Hilarity ensues.  [Note: This totally did not end up funny and is instead sort of angsty and sweet and sad. Sorry!]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Bows and Arrows

Rumplestiltskin had warned her. _Be careful with this one, dearie_. She didn’t really see what was so unique about the bow and arrow that he had set carefully in a place of honor. _I paid dearly for these_. It looks much like the other bow and arrow, the one he had taken off Robin Hood after he broke into the castle. It’s a little smaller, the arrows a little duller, some gold-tipped, some lead. The quiver seems small, as if it’s made more for a woman than a man. It’s beautiful if she has to be totally honest with herself. The bow is finely crafted, light, the carvings extensive and yet it never loses its apparent functionality. She likes to look at it and wonder what exactly it cost him, why exactly it was worth so much to him.

More than once she had drifted toward the lovely weapon only to have him quickly rush between her and it, even once using magic to hold her back. It doesn’t seem dangerous, sitting there all by itself. And it’s not as if she knows how to use such a weapon, but she wonders about it.

Each day she wonders about it more and more. Whose was it? She knows all about the enchanted bow Robin Hood had used to attempt to take out Rumplestiltskin during her first weeks at the castle. He’s given her the history and tells her the bow will one day be very important in a deal he'll make with a princess. It's fascinating, she'll give it that, but the enchanted bow doesn’t really draw her interest.

Maybe it's the fact that Rumplestiltskin won’t tell her anything about it except that it’s “very dangerous” and she should steer clear that makes her walk close to it one afternoon while dusting. She notices that _he_ has not dusted it, nor kept it clean through magic, so she decides a little light cleaning can’t possibly hurt it.

She’s finished dusting off the bow and it fairly gleams and is moving onto the quiver and the few arrows in it when Rumplestiltskin comes storming into the room. Often he moves almost silently, like a predator stalking his prey. And sometimes, like today, he’s all bluster and quick movements and manic hand gestures.

“Belle!” he shouts and she turns quickly. One of her fingers hits an arrow and she winces before spinning to face him. “What are you doing?”

She starts to shake her head. The pain in her finger intensifies for a moment and then is gone as if it never existed in the first place. As she continues to watch him, her knees give out and she finds herself unceremoniously slumping to the ground. Rumplestiltskin is at her side quickly, hauling her back to her feet and peering into her eyes. She can barely open them and so he pries them open, studying her pupils.

She giggles as his hands ghost down over her sides and reach her hands. She tries to pull her left hand away from him, not wanting him to see the large gash she’s made in her clumsy attempt to dust a quiver full of arrows. He’ll be angry. She knows he will be. But when he finally succeeds in freeing her hand to look at it, there’s nothing there. The blood she was sure she had seen had disappeared.

Looking up, she meets his eyes and it takes her a moment to realize just how close they are. So close. He’s never willingly touched her before and now he’s practically holding her in his arms, his eyes worriedly studying her for any sign of injury. “I’m fine,” she whispers and her voice is somewhat hoarse. Why hasn’t she ever noticed before the way his wild hair frames his face so perfectly? Or the way his lips press together when he’s worried. She leans a little closer and brings one hand up to lightly draw a finger down the side of his face.

He jumps back as if burned, releasing her suddenly and leaving her so off balance she nearly falls to the ground again. She laughs as he turns away. “Are you leaving me Rumplestiltskin?”

He turns back and his brow creases for a moment. “Yes. I…uh…I have some potions to see to.” This time he leaves her much quicker and Belle is almost sure he’s trying to escape. She turns to look back at the bow briefly. She really was sure that she had cut herself on it.

* * *

Later that evening they're having dinner as they often did. Sometime after the first few weeks, a second chair had materialized at the table and Rumplestiltskin had informed Belle that she was now to dine with him. They had come to a certain accord by that point in time and Belle was only too happy to change their eating arrangement. Their evenings were pleasant, filled with conversation and occasionally stories or games. It didn't take her long to figure out that Rumplestiltskin likely wanted a companion more than a caretaker. Why her, she had never really understood, but here she was nonetheless.

This evening as she lays out the table, she moves her chair a bit closer toward his. He was too far away, really. She wants intimate conversation, the ability to whisper something and know he'll hear it.

When he sets foot in the room, he almost immediately notices the change, giving her one raised eyebrow before settling himself in the chair. "New arrangement, dear?"

Belle watches him for a moment and then smiles. "I just wanted to be a little closer to you. Is that so bad?" She watches him out of lowered eyes. He looks somewhat flustered and she tries not to laugh.

During dinner, conversation is light, even though at times Belle leans just a little too close to Rumplestiltskin and his eyes widen and he fumbles. When he actually knocks over his wine, spilling it across the table, Belle laughs. He starts to get up, all frantic arm movements and awkwardness, and she reaches out a hand and places it on his thigh. It stops him immediately and for a moment they simply stare at each other.

And then Belle smiles. He looks like a hunted animal, trapped by nothing more than her hand on him. She's touched him before but never really in such an intimate place. She's hugged him, reached out and grabbed his hand. But for some reason today she _wants_ to touch him. It's not just a natural reaction to something that makes her happy. She sees him sitting there and she can't stop looking at him and she wants to reach out and run her fingers through his hair, caress the oddly colored skin of his chest that is revealed by the low cut of his shirt. She wants to be _close_ to him and she doesn't know why.

She releases him suddenly when she realizes the way her thoughts are going and she feels her cheeks redden. His eyes widen even further, which she didn't think possible, and then he's up and moving suddenly, backing away from the table and walking out of the room.

Belle doesn't really know what's gotten into her. She just knows she wants to be near him, talk to him, listen to the rumble of his voice as he speaks to her. They've read stories to each other before and she's always enjoyed the way he manages to make them come to life, but today she realizes she just likes listening to his voice. It's not the same voice he came to her people with. When they're alone it's softer, slower, less agitated. She enjoys listening to him, always has.

But this…this is different.

And she doesn't quite know how. She just knows she wants to pursue…no…she knows she _has_ to pursue it.

* * *

He comes down stairs later that evening. Belle has cleaned up all the unfinished dishes from their evening meal, has cleaned up the wine that had spilled over the table and onto the floor, and set everything to rights.

Well, everything but her own mind.

She hasn’t been able to stop thinking about him all evening and she wondered, hoped even, that he would come back down. As he enters the room, she admires his lean form. He’s left off the dragonhide coat and the sleeves of his red silk shirt billow out around his arms. He takes several steps toward her and then stops, clears his throat.

“I thought I might spin.” One hand aimlessly points at his wheel.

“Of course,” Belle says and he looks away from her. Every movement he makes seems slightly stilted. As he moves toward his wheel, he sends occasional glances over his shoulder at her. Belle decides that must mean he wants her to follow. She picks up her book and comes up behind him. “Do you want me to read to you?”

He turns suddenly, perhaps too suddenly, on the stool before the wheel and watches her for a moment. He looks guarded. If Belle were being totally honest, he looks a bit frightened. She lays a hand on his shoulder and he flinches but does not move away from her touch.

“I…no…no…silence is good tonight, I think.” He nods almost forcefully and Belle cannot help but smile at the way his curls bounce around his face and fall in his eyes. He has such unruly hair. Without thinking about it, she reaches out a hand and tucks an errant curl behind his ear, an affectionate gesture that somehow feels natural, though she’s sure she’s never done it before. His eyes flash to hers and she withdraws her hands and retreats.

What _was_ she doing exactly? She’s not even sure. She just knows that she feels _something_ all of a sudden. Something that she wasn’t sure was there before this morning. But it’s so strong, so overpowering. She simply cannot get him out of her mind. She settles onto her chair to read and instead finds herself watching him. He’s fascinating to watch, really. The way his nimble hands almost caress the straw as he feeds it into the spinning wheel, the way his large eyes follow the track of the wheel. She remembers his telling her that he liked to watch it, that it helped him forget, and she can well imagine why. It’s mesmerizing. The slight creak, the constant motion, the smoothness of the wood as it goes around and around again. She doesn’t even care that she’s staring. She rises from her chair, book in hand and drifts closer to him.

He doesn’t stop spinning as she approaches, but his eyes do move from the wheel to her. She tries to smile, but her face feels frozen. So instead she sits down on the ground, near his feet, and looks up at him. He’s still watching her, a crease between his eyebrows.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to read to you?” Her voice is sweet. She’s always enjoyed reading aloud and tonight more than ever she wants to involve him in her story. It doesn’t even matter what she reads at this point. She just wants something to take up the silence, something to discuss with him even if that discussion is mostly his biting sarcasm and her defending the silly thing.

“No…really…it’s fine.” He finally looks away from her and so she settles in with her book. She leans backward a bit until her back comes in contact with his legs. She hears the wheel pause for just a moment and then pick up speed.

Everything is companionable for a time. She reads, though she is far more attentive to the feel of his legs behind her, the sure solidness of him. He spins, though if she so much as shifts even slightly, he hesitates. And then the wheel grinds to a halt. One of his hands lightly touches the top of her head and she stops reading. He strokes down her hair to her shoulder once, twice, and then finally his hand comes to rest on her shoulder.

“Belle?” His voice is quiet, perhaps more quiet than she’s ever heard it. She has to lean back a little more to hear him properly.

“Yes Rumple?” There’s silence for a moment and she realizes that was the first time she had shortened his name in such a way. He’s never given her permission to, but it trips off her tongue much more naturally than his full name, which is really quite a mouthful.

“Did you touch that bow?” There was no change in his voice, no sense of ire.

“It was dusty. I cleaned it.” She hears him sigh.

“And did you, perhaps, cut yourself on any of the arrows?” She’s surprised there is still no anger lacing his voice. She had yet to see him hide such emotions from her.

“I thought I had, but when I looked at my hand, there was nothing there.” She hears him sigh again, but no explanation comes forth. He is silent for a moment longer and then releases her shoulder.

“Go to bed Belle. We’ll discuss this in the morning.” He sounds tired.

“But…”

“No. Please…just go. I must think.” She doesn’t understand him, what he needs to think about. But his voice brooks no argument and so she stands. For a moment she studies him and then, because she cannot quite resist the temptation, she leans over him and presses a quick kiss to his brow.

She turns and walks away. Behind her, she hears the familiar creaking of the wheel begin once more.

* * *

Rumplestiltskin is gone the next morning when Belle gets down to the main room. She can always tell when he's left the castle. The feel of the place is off somehow when he's not there. Candles still light, the fire is still going, but the _power_ of the place is diminished. She often wonders what would happen if he disappeared for months. Would the magic simply run out over time?

Today the place feels even colder and she realizes she's missing his company during her morning tea more than she has on the other days he's disappeared. The first few weeks she was at the castle, she relished those moments. No fear of what he might do, no worries that she might displease him in some way, complete freedom to wander the place and look at anything she could find. She still got work done, just in case, but she didn't feel that extra pressure.

By the time she was there a couple months, his absences, infrequent though they might be, were bothersome. She's lonely and bored, has no one to talk to when he's not there. She usually finds ways to occupy herself. But today she can't. She's fidgety, worried. She thinks about him almost constantly and finds herself more often than not seated at his spinning wheel. She can still smell his presence there, that strange spicy scent of his magic that clings to him. She finds it hard to believe she hadn't really taken notice of it until yesterday. It was overpowering to her senses as she had sat at his feet and read the night before.

She hears the voices before anyone emerges into the room and so has a chance to move away from his spinning wheel. She can't even quite imagine what his reaction to finding her sitting at it, caressing the wheel, watching it move, would be. The thought would make her laugh if she weren't almost embarrassed by it.

Rumplestiltskin emerges into the room first. His head is turned slightly toward the taller man following behind him and his hands are gesticulating wildly.

The other man is dressed perhaps even more flamboyantly than Rumplestiltskin is, also in leathers and silks. A large top hat sits atop his head and it's so prominent that it easily draws Belle's attention as it bobs along with his head movements.

But she isn't watching him for long. She's intrigued that Rumplestiltskin has left and returned with someone. She can't remember the last time anyone has been in his home besides her. They have never had a meal with someone else and took tea with someone looking for a deal only once before. And then only because that person was royalty and it seemed to be the best way to placate him and get him to agree to the deal Rumplestiltskin wanted. So it's odd for someone to be there, but Belle hardly cares about his presence.

She rushes toward Rumplestiltskin as he finally turns toward her and sees her. "You're back!" she says with a smile and watches as his eyes squint slightly. She wants to hug him, to welcome him back properly, but there's company and she feels out of sorts about that. If she had to be honest with herself, she might admit that she wanted him all to herself. She was _used to_ having him all to herself and she likes it that way.

"Ah!" the taller man says. "This must be the lovely flower that you've been talking about!" She glances at him for just a moment before raising one eyebrow at Rumplestiltskin.

"Jefferson, _please_ ," Rumplestiltskin hisses at the taller man.

Jefferson laughs. "I can see why you'd be so taken with her, Rumple." He steps forward and walks slowly around Belle. She watches him as he does so. He doesn't move with the grace her Rumplestiltskin does, but he does move easily. The top hat makes him seem taller than he is. He's taller than her, certainly by quite a bit, and taller than Rumplestiltskin, but he doesn't quite tower over her as she thought he would. "The thing I don't quite understand." He cocks his head as he studies her. "Is why she's so taken with _you_."

"Enough." Rumplestiltskin's voice is harsh, more so than she's heard it in some time. It softens as he turns to her. "Belle, dear. Could you perhaps get us a spot of tea?"

It's a dismissal. He wants her out of the room. She has no doubt of it. She cannot understand what is going on exactly. Taken with her? She doesn't quite know what she feels for Rumplestiltskin at this point, though she knows she wants to be near him, she knows she is drawn to him, but she has seen no signs that he is _taken_ with her.

"Of course," she says and curtseys. Jefferson laughs and Rumplestiltskin shoots the man a dark look. Belle decides that's as good a time as any to turn her back on the two of them and leave. And she does go make the tea, or at least she puts the kettle on in preparation, but Belle is an ever curious one, something Rumplestiltskin has warned her about many times before, and so while it's heating, she treads lightly back toward the main room.

Jefferson's voice is loud. It easily carries across the room to her. Rumplestiltskin's is more subdued and with his arms crossed over his chest, she can tell hardly anything about what he's thinking or feeling.

"So what exactly is going on here?" Jefferson asks.

Rumplestiltskin steps a few paces away from him and then walks back toward him. She can't hear the words he says, but Jefferson's response of "Oh of course, never" tells her there are secrets being told her, that she's probably hearing something she shouldn't hear, maybe even something she doesn't _want_ to hear.

For a moment Rumplestiltskin paces back and forth, then crooks a finger at his friend. Jefferson follows him and then the two are standing in front of the bow. _That bow_. He still hasn’t explained what it is, but everything that is going on, Rumplestiltskin’s odd way of acting, Jefferson’s presence and weird comments, it’s all connected to _that bow_.

“Wow…you have it.” Jefferson sounds amazed, perhaps even a little bit awed.

“Indeed I do.” This time Rumplestiltskin’s voice was loud enough to be heard. He sounds proud, as he usually does about anything acquired in one of his nefarious deals.

“I figured that was just a rumor.” She watches as Jefferson reaches out, almost touches the bow, before Rumplestiltskin smacks his hand away.

"Don't touch it. _Touching_ it has already gotten me in enough trouble." She doesn't quite understand what he means by that. He's been confusing her ever since that bow first appeared.

Jefferson's head turns suddenly as he stares at Rumplestiltskin. "So that's what this is about. She pricked her finger on it." Rumplestiltskin's voice is too quiet to hear, but the way his head moves indicates his answer. "And that's why she…"

"Yes." This time his voice is loud, almost too loud. He cuts Jefferson off and turns away.

Belle finally can stand it no more. They're talking about _her_. She steps out into plain view and walks toward them. "What exactly is going on?"

The two men jump slightly and Rumplestiltskin looks a bit nervous. He doesn't quite meet her eyes. "Belle, dear…tea?"

She shakes her head. "Whatever is going on here involves _me_. And you should know better than anyone that I am the only one who decides my fate."

Rumplestiltskin smirks. "Yes I do seem to recall hearing something like that once."

Belle smirks back at him and for a moment all is quiet, comfortable.

"Well, isn't that just adorable," Jefferson says and the sarcasm breaks Belle out of her reverie. Rumplestiltskin rolls his eyes at him.

"How about I get that tea and we sit down and discuss whatever this is like civilized people?" Belle starts to turn away, not giving the men a chance to protest when she sees Rumplestiltskin wave his hand in the air and feels the strange shivery feeling of his magic invading the room. She rolls her eyes as the teapot and cups appear.

"Never you mind that one, dear." Sometimes she wonders why he _really_ wanted her there. He could use magic to clean, to produce meals, to serve him his tea. She knows, if the stories are even remotely accurate, that he has gotten along in this castle alone for hundreds of years. She sometimes suspects loneliness, from the way she quickly went from prisoner to almost honored guest.

She pours the tea and the three of them sit at the table. Silence reigns for a moment and finally Belle sighs. "Tell me about the bow." Rumplestiltskin does not look up at her and instead carefully stirs sugar and milk into his tea. It's clear he's avoiding her eyes, doesn't want to explain this one to her. "Rumple?" He waves a hand in the air and it's finally Jefferson who jumps into the conversation.

"Have you heard of Cupid?" There's a smile playing about his lips.

Belle's eyes widen. "The God of Love?" And suddenly she realizes whose bow it is. "I scraped my hand on _Cupid's_ bow?"

"Indeed…" Rumplestiltskin starts to say.

"And so whomever you first laid eyes on…" Jefferson lets his words trail off and half flicks his hand in the general direction of Rumplestiltskin.

"And that's why I'm feeling like this." She's not sure she likes that thought. She had warm feelings for Rumplestiltskin before this whole thing happened. But now they're saying that whatever she's feeling _now_ , whatever it is that makes her want to reach out and touch him, run her fingers through his hair, be close to him, is false. It's magic. And it's a mistake. For some reason that idea really bothers her. No, even more than that, it _hurts_.

She watches Rumplestiltskin for a moment, the way his head bows, and she remembers Jefferson saying he was "taken" with her. Was he? She doesn't really even know what answer she wanted to that. Finally he whispers, "Yes." And she's surprised at the way it makes her heart ache. He sounds sad, immeasurably sad, and she can't say she's ever heard him use that tone of voice.

Her eyes meet Jefferson's and for a moment even his mouth is turned downward. Silence reigns until Belle could stand it no longer. “So what are you going to do about this?” Rumplestiltskin was never without a plan. He was the deal maker, the one who always knew exactly what he wanted and exactly what precious thing you would part with. He knew her father had nothing except her and so here she was. Caretaker, companion, maybe something else.

Rumplestiltskin sighs and glances briefly at Jefferson before looking back to his tented fingers. “Can that thing take you to Mount Olympus?”

“Of course it can.” Jefferson’s voice sounds almost offended. “But you know the rules of the hat…”

Rumplestiltskin waves a hand dismissively in the air, “Cupid can find his way here on his own.” Finally he looks Jefferson square in the eyes. “Tell him I have a deal for him…for his bow.”

Jefferson nods and stands. He pulls the gigantic hat off his head finally, revealing hair flattened by its near-constant wear. He takes a step away from the table and tosses the hat with a flair worthy of Rumplestiltskin. The hat hits the ground with a slight thud and spins faster, a vortex opening from within it.

Belle jumps up and scrambles backward slightly, colliding with Rumplestiltskin who she has not seen rise behind her. He wraps his arms around her tightly, keeping her back from the vortex, keeping her safe. He always keeps her safe. It’s the one thing she truly trusts him to do.

 Jefferson steps forward, leaps, and in almost an instant, the vortex, the hat, and the man are all gone. The wind from the vortex dies quickly and it’s as if no one else was ever there. She’s left standing alone in the main room with Rumplestiltskin tight up against her, his arms around her. She can hear him breathing a little heavier than normal, his breath tickling the hair at the nape of her neck.

Before he can let her go, she turns in his arms and wraps hers around him. She doesn’t know what will happen when this Cupid arrives. She’s not sure she wants him to come. _Love_. She has read all about this god before, the gold-tipped arrows that create love where there was none. A strange thing that, she realizes. She’s heard Rumplestiltskin expound enough on the rules of magic that she’s surprised this Cupid can break one so easily as all that. She wonders if he can reverse what has happened to her. And she wonders if she even wants him to.

So in the here and now, she has one chance, perhaps, to do what she wants to. Cupid may come soon and remove whatever she was feeling. And so she does what she realizes she’s been wanting to do all morning.

Standing up on her toes, she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him down to her, pressing her lips to his. He stills beneath her, stiffens for a moment, and then his arms tighten about her and he slants his mouth over hers. The kiss deepens, his tongue parting the seam of her lips to enter her mouth and wrap around her own tongue. She gasps, threads her fingers through his hair, and presses up tightly against him.

And then he tears himself away, pushes her away from him, though not with any sort of strength. He’s breathing heavily, staring at her. When he speaks, his voice is a mere whisper. “Belle…I…” He seems to be unable to say more and so instead runs his hand through his already unruly hair, leaving it sticking out on end. And then he turns and walks away.

She wants to call out to him, ask him to come back to her, to finish what they started. But she doesn’t. She lets him go because she’s not sure what else to do, because she doesn’t know what to say, because she doesn’t really know what she wants.

* * *

The doors fly open sometime later. Rumplestiltskin has been gone since their kiss and Belle wonders if it was a huge mistake to act on impulse. She won’t regret it, however. She had wanted it and it was utterly glorious. She had never been kissed like that before. Only Gaston had ever attempted such a thing and it was chaste and thankfully over quickly. What she had experienced with Rumplestiltskin was not something she’d soon forget.

The person who walks through the door is small, maybe even smaller than Rumplestiltskin. As he comes closer, she realizes he’s little more than a boy. He’s dressed all in white, a toga of sorts, that’s pinned at his shoulder with a golden clasp. Sitting atop his head is a crown of leaves. He pauses just inside the doors looking around and then his mouth turns into a grimace as he treads on silent feet across the room. Belle knows where he’s headed before he reaches it.

“You must be Cupid,” Belle says and her voice falls heavily into the silence of the room.

He turns around quickly to face her. “And you…”

“I’m Belle.” She walks toward him and watches as he cocks his head slightly to the side.

“Ah, so you’re the one in…trouble…as it were.” He gives her a wolfish smile. “Where’s Rumplestiltskin?”

“Right here, dearie.” He appears in the middle of the room, coming between Belle and the God of Love. “I’d appreciate it if you stayed away from my maid.”

“Is that all she is to you?” He raises one eyebrow.

“Please do have a seat. Wouldn’t want you to exhaust those delicate little feet of yours.” He turns away from the young god and Belle can see the sneer on his face.

“Tea…?” she starts to ask.

“Oh no, dear. Our little god here would never deign to drink something so insipid as tea. Not when he has the greatest ambrosia in the world at his fingertips!” The showman is back, Belle notes. He’s rolling his r’s and his hands fly about him in flamboyant gestures. It feels like it’s been a long time since she’s seen this version of Rumplestiltskin.

Cupid watches him for a long moment before striding imperiously to the head of the table and seating himself in Rumplestiltskin’s own chair. Belle immediately looks at Rumplestiltskin and can see the way his eyes darken. Normally they’re almost unreadable, blank and unblinking. But today with this brows low over his eyes, the strange irises have turned nearly black.

She puts a steadying hand on his arm and as his eyes meet hers, they lighten again. “The deal?” she reminds him and he nods. They take the other seats and Rumplestiltskin leans forward slightly, staring intently at the god seated in his chair.

The young god speaks first. “It seems you’ve run into a little problem with my bow since you stole it…”

“Won it in a deal!” Rumplestiltskin points out, rather unhelpfully Belle thinks.

“Rumple…”

“Well, I _did_ ,” he says on a pout and she shakes her head at him, unable to help the indulgent smile that crosses her features.

Cupid leans back in the chair and puts his feet up on the table. “My my my…it seems this is worse than I thought. Rumple, darling, did you have an accident with my bow as well?”

The look he gives the god is unreadable.

“Oh I see,” Cupid murmurs, though Belle does not.

Rumplestiltskin ignores the young god’s needling. “Alright so listen up dearie. I’m offering you a fair deal here. I give you back your bow…”

“And arrows,” the young god points out.

Rumplestiltskin rolls his eyes. “And arrows…and you fix whatever this is.”

Cupid watches Rumplestiltskin for a moment, his eyes slightly narrowed before slowly nodding. “Agreed.”

The bow suddenly appears in Cupid’s hand, the quiver of arrows draped over his back. The young god breathes a sigh of relief.

“So my part of the deal, dearie?”

Cupid reaches into the quiver and pulls out one of the lead-tipped arrows. “So as far as I can tell, you have two choices right now.”

“Yes yes, get on with it.” Belle finds herself almost annoyed at his impatience.

“Do you know of these lead-tipped arrows?  It seems most know naught about them.”

Belle can tell from the slight crease between Rumplestiltskin’s brows that he has no idea what the god is talking about. Unfortunately she doesn’t know either.

Cupid sighs. “I can tell from your silence that you don’t. All everyone ever talks about is the love aspect. ‘Cupid shoots you with an arrow and you fall in love!’ Do you know how _tiring_ that gets?”

“Get on with it,” Rumplestiltskin very nearly growls out.

“Hitting your lovely lady with one of these lead-tipped arrows will bring out all of her negative emotions for you, burying any sort of tender feelings she might be experiencing. So if I hit her with one of these, she’ll feel nothing but aversion for you and likely flee from your castle, never to be seen again. You will be rid of the problem faster than you can blink”

“No!” Belle suddenly says, the word spoken louder than she intended. She rises from her seat and rounds on Rumplestiltskin. “I will not have you dictating my emotions in such a way. I do not _want_ to feel aversion for you.”

Rumplestiltskin smiles and gently touches her arm. He doesn’t take his eyes from hers as he speaks to Cupid. “You heard the lady. It seems we need option number two.”

“You live with it,” the young god states.

Both Rumplestiltskin and Belle are rendered speechless for a moment. She returns to her seat, falling heavily into it.

“That’s not good enough, dearie.” Rumplestiltskin’s voice sounds dangerous and Belle considers leaving the room before he does something she doesn’t want to see. Though she does wonder, for all of the power Rumplestiltskin wields, what _can_ he do to a god?

“Well, it’s all I’ve got…”

“You did this. _Fix_ it.”

“Now now, darling. You surely know the rules of magic by now, don’t you? I know you’re a youngster, but you’ve had a few centuries to sort them out.” Cupid makes a small sound of disapproval.

“But…” Belle’s never quite seen Rumplestiltskin so much at a loss of words.

“Explain,” she demands. The young god turns toward her, shooting her a look of disdain. She holds her head up higher.

“The arrows cannot _make_ someone love or hate another. That’s a very common misconception. What the arrows _do_ is bring out those emotions that are already there.”

“So if you don’t love someone, then the arrow will do nothing to you.”

“Exactly,” Cupid says, nodding. He stands. “With that, darlings, I must be off. It was good dealing with you Rumplestiltskin…again.” Small white wings suddenly sprout from his back and the young god lifts himself into the air and flies out the door, disappearing as soon as he’s outside.

Belle is left alone with Rumplestiltskin and turns to look at him. He looks stunned and unsure of himself and she finds herself grinning. It seems they have much to discuss in the coming days.


End file.
